Ezra rolled his eyes. “No twenty-minute Jewish good byes.”
Naomi raised her finger and pointed at him. “Just for that comment, I’ll take twenty-five minutes.”
Chapter 5
Becky
Becky yanked the now-tattered tablecloth, scrunching it into her hand. “Please, please,” she begged under her breath for David to get out of his chair and give her the time-to-go signal. Today of all days, she wished she hadn’t married a first-to-come-last-to-go type. The rabbi didn’t help matters--nothing like a willing participant in a Jewish law argument.
She scrunched the ripped chunks of the plastic protruding between her fingers. What right did Naomi have to tell her who to invite to her son’s wedding? If Naomi knew what Miriam did, she’d agree. There was no way in freakin’ hell Miriam would ever, ever see--
A tap on the shoulder caused her muscles to tense. She whipped around to see who did the tapping--Naomi.
“Whoa,” Naomi said. “You need to relax. I haven’t seen you this wound up since your mom’s funeral.
“Stop sneaking up on me.”
“I just wanted to say Shabbat Shalom and tell you I’m leaving.”
“Good bye.” Becky hoped her clipped tone adequately conveyed the message she intended--leave me the hell alone. She turned and walked away, swearing that if Naomi mentioned the word invitation or Miriam one more time, she would scream. And she didn’t give a damn if she was in a synagogue.
The trouble with knowing a person for forever was they believed they had the inalienable right to get into your business. No one could ever know about this business. She dumped the tablecloth into the trashcan and walked toward David, passing a few empty chairs, and--like a little kid--she smacked her palm against each of them. Opening that box in her mother’s closet destroyed her past and killed the last ounce of faith she had in people. This business was something she couldn’t even share with David.
Noah and Maria ditched out at 1:30. Now it was Becky’s turn to leave. If David didn’t want to lift his ass from the chair, he could hike home in this shitty snow--alone. “Come on, David. It’s time to go home.” She stood behind his chair, interrupting his conversation with the rabbi.
“Give me a minute, Beck.”
She squeezed his shoulder and glared at the rabbi. Torah, Talmud, Laws...too much talking. “No, we’re leaving right now.”
Rabbi Morty shrugged in defeat. She didn’t care if David was embarrassed. She needed to go home, peel off her Spanx, and suffer in silence. “Now,” she barked, giving the back of his chair a tug.
She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she pulled off her hat and headed for the double doors. Before walking outside, she tucked it under her coat. It cost too damn much money to risk snow melting on it. Of course, the parking lot wasn’t plowed. She grumbled a few choice words under her breath and slipped, almost landing on her backside. Damn spiked heels. They begged for the snow to creep down the sides. Her feet were frozen by the time she reached their big white Mercedes, climbed into the passenger seat, and buckled the seat belt. With her arms crossed in front of her chest, she stared out the driver’s side window until she finally spotted David heading toward the car.
Normally, they chatted or gossiped during the drive home. Today, Becky stared out the window at the frozen wasteland of Mt. Lebanon. Some people considered snow-covered trees and bushes beautiful. She never could see the beauty. To her, it just emphasized that the lawns and trees were dead. No wonder people move south.
The salt truck must have passed their house more than once. The road was clean, but at least four inches of plowed-aside snow blocked their driveway. David reached up, pushing the button on the garage door opener attached to the sun visor. The door slowly lifted. “I guess it’s time to shovel before someone falls on our sidewalk and sues us,” he said.
“Whatever.” Becky opened the car door, climbed out, and stomped the snow off her shoes while walking across the double car garage into the basement. Before closing the door, she glimpsed David leaning against the snow shovel, shaking his head.
Once inside, she filled the coffee pot with water but only enough for one cup. She popped in the small K-cup and closed the lid. Because David made her wait so long, he could make his own damn coffee. As it brewed, she checked her cell phone--two missed calls. The coffee smelled good, much better than synagogue instant crap. She carried the cup down the hallway and walked into her home office, slamming the door behind her.
Her home office looked exactly like she believed an office should look, rich cherry wood, a large desk, and built in shelves lined with leather-bound books. A few years ago, she bought the books in bulk at an estate sale. She didn’t even glance at the titles, just hauled them home in three big boxes. It didn’t bother her that not one facet of the room was functionally useful. It looked impressive and that made her happy. She could do her real work in her office on the fortieth floor of a downtown skyscraper--a modern office, ugly but highly functional.
Becky swiveled in her chair, reached for a fat book wedged between Dickens and Shakespeare, and opened it. Its contents caused her stomach to lurch, but she pulled out the thin stack of yellowed envelopes anyway.
***
Miriam
Miriam got out of the car and walked straight to the mailbox, not caring that the snow reached above her ankles and ignoring the cold. She pulled out the envelopes and whisked through them, reading only the return address. None contained anything remotely close to an invitation. She trudged back up the driveway and into the house.
Inside, Joe stretched out on the sofa, watching the recording of last night’s news. She knew she had about ten minutes before the Crown Royal shots escorted him to the land of loud snoring.
“It’s not here.” The tightness in her throat made it difficult to utter the words.
“Relax. Monday--you’ll get it on Monday. The mailman probably didn’t want to carry a heavy load through the snow.
“That’s a dumb statement. You know the mailman has to deliver everything that comes into the post office each day.”
He switched his gaze from the pretty news anchor to her. “And now you’re an expert on mail delivery?”
She nodded, knowing that talking would trigger tears. Why did she have to cry so easily?
Joe sat up and patted the spot beside him. She curled against his side, wrapping him in a hug and inhaling the musky scent of his cologne mixed with the whiskey on his breath.
“This is craziness. The three musketeers can’t function without speaking to each other for more than a few days. Must I remind you that Becky called every day while we were in Rio last year?” He kissed her forehead. “The only way you will not get an invitation to that wedding is if there is no wedding. So drop the whole issue.”
She kissed his cheek and gave him a squeeze. Joe never failed to comfort her when she needed it the most. He was the human equivalent of a security blanket. “Fine, I’ll wait until Monday.” She planted one more kiss on his cheek before rising from the sofa. “Enjoy the nap and try to keep the noise level down.”
They both smiled. He stretched out and she walked up stairs to the bedroom, glancing at the family pictures that lined the wall.
The sun shone through the bedroom window, making the streaks left by the rain and snow obvious. No point in the cleaning lady washing them. There would be a lot more snow before spring.
She balled her suit up and stuffed it into the dry-cleaning bag laying on the floor of her closet. Joe was right, of course. The mere idea of not being invited was outlandish. She pulled an ancient pair of blue jeans from the closet. The softness of the washed-out denim triggered tears. The jeans were nothing special. Becky bought them for her on an impromptu shopping expedition after Miriam’s last pregnancy. Becky hated maternity clothes. At the store, she made Miriam put on the new jeans and dump the pregnancy pants into the trashcan in the food court. Miriam followed her instructions simply because, as far back as third-grade, Becky
acted as the fashion expert. Miriam and Naomi always followed her advice...
***
Miriam walked out of the dressing room and stood on the raised platform in front of the mirror. The salesgirl scuttled behind, straightening the train of the wedding gown.
“Wow,” Naomi said, reclining in a soft lounge chair positioned to the left of the pseudo-stage. “That dress looks perfect on you.”
Becky walked slowly around her, stopping behind her and pulling on the dress. “It fits.”
“That’s all you have to say?” The look of disgust on Naomi’s face matched her voice.
Becky turned to face Naomi. “Yes, that is all I have to say. I’m the maid-of-honor in this wedding, and I’m going to make sure that the day is perfect--and that includes the bride’s dress. Yes, this dress looks nice, but Miriam has a tiny waist and this dress isn’t showing it off. She needs a dress that makes her boobs look bigger.”
Naomi threw up her hands. “Fine, Ms. Chanel, I concede to you. This dress is not perfect.”
“Stick to giving advice on shoes. That’s your department.”
Miriam turned, faced the mirror, and smiled, acknowledging her luck at having two friends who wanted her wedding to be as wonderful as she did.
***
Today, it seemed like the jeans were staring at her, as if they wanted to speak words of comfort. She continued sliding her hand back and forth--hypnotically. There was something special about these jeans. She hung onto them, even though Nathan, her youngest son, was now a college senior.
“Miriam,” Joe spoke softly as he came up behind her, pulling her from her reverie. “You’re crying.”
She nodded and, with the back of her hand, swiped at a rolling tear. When his strong arms engulfed her, she buried her face into his shoulder.
“You’re jumping the gun. It’ll arrive on Monday, but if it’s upsetting you so much, you should have talked to her at shul.”
Miriam shook her head. “I tried, but she walked away.”
“She’s just being Becky. Whatever her problem is, she’ll get over it in a few days. Just, watch, by Monday, the phone will ring. She’ll be in the middle of another catastrophic event and need your help.”
Usually, Joe could predict the end of Becky’s tantrums within a day, but today, Miriam couldn’t shake the feeling that he was wrong.
But she nodded in agreement anyway when he released her from the hug.
He stood, watching as she lifted her foot from the floor, ready to put on the jeans. Before she could do it, he clasped her hand, kissed her cheek, and escorted her to the bed.
Chapter 7
Naomi
Naomi drove home from shul oblivious to the conversation flowing between Ezra and Sarah. Her mind remained fixated on the wedding invitations. She eased the old minivan into the garage and, before the key was out of the ignition, Ezra and Sarah bolted out of the car. In the basement, she found them already arranged in front of Ezra’s computer, laughing at a YouTube video.
On a regular Shabbat, she would have stopped and asked them what they were watching or suggested they do something that didn’t involve using electricity. Today, it was enough that there were no naked bodies on the screen. She didn’t bother to say anything before heading upstairs to ditch her pantyhose.
As much as she loved spending Saturday mornings with her friends, she hated the rest of the day. Weekdays flew by quickly with work, cleaning, and cooking. Sundays were designated to laundry and visiting her sister. Saturdays dragged, forcing her to acknowledge the emptiness of her life.
Once in a while, Ezra would take pity on her and rent a movie they could watch together. But no seventeen-year-old kid wanted to spend Saturday night with his mother.
She peeled off the control top, sag-proof stockings and hung her skirt in the closet, relieved to feel the circulation return to her ankles. She pulled on a pair of semi-clean jeans and a sweatshirt before walking into the bathroom. The hot water rinsing away the makeup also removed the remaining chill from her skin. She slathered on some anti-wrinkle moisturizer before walking over to her nightstand and grabbing her novel of the week. The wingback chair next to the bay window in the living room was her Shabbat reading spot. The living room was her favorite room in the house. Her refuge.
Jake hated the living room, which he referred to as “a giant waste of space.” When Ezra and Josh were little, he suggested ditching the furniture and putting up a tent so the boys could pretend to camp. She recommended he take them real camping and leave the furniture alone. He never took them camping nor did he remove her comfy chair and flowery sofa.
Today the novel failed to sweep her away. Her eyes kept shifting from the page to the gorgeous, signed, Chagall print hanging over the sofa. Miriam gave it to her on her fortieth birthday. Naomi didn’t even want to think about the price, but it did remind her of the Becky/Miriam situation. How could friends get caught up in such bullshit? Naomi mentally rehearsed a “value of friendship” speech to give to Becky, but ended up dozing off with the novel upside down on her lap. It tumbled onto the floor when the ringing doorbell startled her awake.
“Ezra, answer the door,” she yelled, but the bell continued sounding, and he didn’t come. “Fine,” she grumbled while pulling on her slippers. She didn’t tell anyone, but after Jake left, she developed a fear of ringing doorbells. She didn’t know why. She didn’t expect him to be standing on the front porch, but just the tone of the bell caused her stomach to clench. She peeked through the window relieved to see Laurie, standing on the other side.
Laurie stomped snow from her boots. “Naomi, can you believe Becky? As if the shock of Noah marrying a non-Jew wasn’t enough, now this Miriam bullshit. Where are Sarah and Ezra?”
Naomi elbowed Laurie in the side and chuckled. “An hour ago, they were in the basement, watching YouTube videos. Who knows now? Maybe they’re making out on the sofa.”
“Ha, ha, Naomi. That’s the last thing you and I need right now--grandchildren.” She yanked off her heavy-duty snow boots, set them on the small entrance rug, and padded to the kitchen. “Do you have any coffee made or should I start a fresh pot?”
“The stuff in the pot is left over from this morning.”
Naomi tiptoed down the basement steps as Laurie began filling the pot with water. Just as Naomi suspected, the kids were engrossed in a movie and, based upon the seating arrangement, no kissing. Poor Ezra, Sarah treated him like a cousin.
“Hey, you two, Sarah’s mom is here. We’re going to have a cup of coffee. Let us know when the movie is over.”
Ezra grumbled an acknowledgment.
“You better tell me my daughter is still a virgin,” Laurie quipped as she pulled mugs out of the cabinet. “Do you have any soy milk?”
The brewing coffee smelled comforting. “No, on the soy and you have to ask her, not me.” Naomi sat down in her chair. Jake always sat at the head of the table. She still couldn’t sit in his seat. It wasn’t a respect thing. More like something Josh used to say when he was little--cooties.
“So, Naomi, have you figured out how we’re going to fix this wedding issue?”
Naomi cocked her head. “Excuse me? We’re going to fix this ‘wedding issue’?”
“Of course,” Laurie said. “Someone has to fix it because Becky is bullheaded, and I can’t stand watching her break Miriam’s heart. Can you explain why she doesn’t want her at Noah’s wedding?”
Naomi glanced out the sliding glass door at the white carpeted deck. The snow covered the fact that it desperately needed to be re-stained. That was Jake’s job. She didn’t have the money to pay someone to do it. Maybe Josh could give it a try over summer break.
“Are you ignoring my question?” Laurie’s words pulled Naomi’s thoughts away from repairs and back to Miriam.
“No, I’m not--just thinking and nothing comes to mind.” Naomi fiddled with her napkin. “They were fine a month ago.”
Lauri shrugged.
Naomi didn’t know wh
at to think. Their last big blow up happened over a year and a half ago. She twirled her spoon against the sides of the coffee cup. “The only reason I can think of occurred well over a year ago, just before you and Dan started coming to the synagogue. There was an incident. Well, not exactly an incident, more like a battle. The rabbi’s wife had just given birth to son number four. We decided to cater the Brit Milah celebration ourselves. But you know how Miriam hates to cook--she refused to help. This pissed-off Becky, who insisted Miriam could at least stand in the kitchen and wash lettuce. Rather than give in and help, Miriam offered to pay for a caterer. Becky declared it a cold and lazy gesture--”
“That’s a stupid story,” Laurie interrupted.
“You didn’t ask if there was an intelligent reason. You asked why Miriam wasn’t invited. So let me finish. Becky climbed onto her high horse and called Joe at work. Poor guy, he didn’t know what to say. I guess he went home and got into a huge argument with Miriam. In the end, we all cooked, baked, setup, and tore down, and did dishes. Except Miriam, who was so pissed, she didn’t even show her face. Instead, she ordered a special Shabbat dinner for the rabbi’s family and had it delivered it to their house. She even hired a non-Jewish waitress to serve and cleanup. Ever since, the relationship has felt a bit chilly.”
Laurie looked as if she was still waiting for the punch line.
“Until that fight, they were conjoined at the hip,” Naomi continued. “I thought they made amends when Becky’s father passed away. Miriam arranged the shiva and coordinated all the meals for the family. After the funeral, everything seemed to be back to normal between them, and the occasional snide remarks about cooking were nothing new. Now, I have no idea what’s going on in Becky’s head.”
The Kiddush Ladies Page 6